


The Guildpact's Clinic

by marathemara



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Amonkhet, F/F, F/M, Multi, Past Unhealthy Relationship, Ravnica, fanwalker, medical drama, mind magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-17 22:15:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marathemara/pseuds/marathemara
Summary: After a decade of wandering the Multiverse, Esther has found her calling back home on Ravnica as the founder and head doctor of a medical clinic open to members of all the guilds. Just as she's starting to think she's got her life figured out, an ex-lover with a history of emotional deadweight falls out of the sky and onto her operating table, threatening to disrupt both her work and her home life and drag her into interplanar politics.Follows the events of Hour of Devastation. First published on dialmformara.tumblr.com.





	1. Esther, Healer of the Mind

_Ravnica  
A boardinghouse near the Guildpact’s sanctum_

Esther, the clinic’s head doctor, barely looked up from her breakfast as the minotaur door guard rushed an unconscious man past her and into the operating room. If the healers needed her, they would call her. Movement for movement's sake was its own punishment. Instead she centered herself, mentally followed the warmth a sip of coffee all the way down, and waited for the guard to come back.

“Status of the patient?” she asked when she heard footsteps behind her.

“Not great, ma’am,” the minotaur said. “Big hole in his shoulder, like he caught a fireball. They're, uh, prepping him now.”

“Any identifiers?” Fireball-wielding goblins were most often found in Rakdos territory. To have come all this way with that kind of wound was impressive.

“Unusual armor, ma’am. Like nothing Boros uses.”

Esther looked up at him, eyebrow raised. “Or any of the other guilds that have armored guards?” Derek was new to the job of guarding the clinic, and she suspected he’d been chosen more for his upper arm strength than for his problem-solving ability.

At least he was honest. “I don’t know, ma’am.”

“Can you show me?” Esther reached out with her mind toward Derek, just enough to ask permission to see his memories of bringing the patient in. He shrugged. His subconscious shuddered. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry, Derek, but I do need to know whatever I can about--”

The door to the operating room flew open, and an elven healer stuck her head out into the dining hall. “Doctor!” A nudge at her mind, and suddenly Esther saw the man on the operating table through Selesnyan eyes, the strange armor stripped away to reveal the hideous shoulder wound.

It was necrotic. Esther took a moment to keep the half an egg bun she’d just eaten safely inside her stomach. “On my way,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “On my way in. Don’t forget to scrub up, Derek.”

As she washed her own hands, counting out the syllables of a half-remembered nursery rhyme, the soap stinging a hangnail, she realized she knew those chest muscles.

* * *

_They had left Valeron together on the night their lord succumbed to old age. In the absence of purpose, her home plane called to her. He promised to help her find her way, and made no mention of where he would go from there._

_He had somewhere in mind, she was sure. Gideon Jura, Sigiled knight of Bant, never went anywhere without a plan._

_Still, she tried. “You could stay with me,” she whispered, clasping his hands on the front steps of a rowhouse in the Izzet district, his shielding spell keeping the rain away._

_“I know.” He shook his head and started to pull away. “I'm not ready.”_

_“What would make you ready?” He'd never answered that question, always rearranged his thoughts to make it look like he didn’t know._

_He did not disappoint. “I promise I’ll come back when I know.” He bent his head, gently kissed her cheek. “You’ll see me again,” he whispered in her ear._

_He let go of her hands a little too fast, turned away and walked off into the rain. Halfway across the street he planeswalked away, fading into a tendril of fog._

_Esther sighed. Just how badly had she wasted the last two years?_

_The rain began to soak through her hair and chill her scalp. She turned her back on the fog and climbed the stairs, hoping that Zofia the Cogworker still lived inside._

* * *

“I wonder if he’s figured it out?” Esther said to herself. This was not the time to wonder that, she answered. When she entered the operating room, she would be expected to share her thoughts with the Conclave healers, and there was no reason for them to find out who Gideon was, or that she’d ever left Ravnica.

She carefully arranged her thoughts so that concern for an anonymous patient was uppermost in her mind, then pushed open the double doors to what had once been the boardinghouse’s kitchen, where two healers stood on opposite sides of the table on which Gideon lay.

The healer who had called for Esther reached out to her mind again, offering the mental equivalent of an outstretched hand. Esther took the hand and slipped into a familiar shared mindspace. _What needs to be done_?

_Make sure he sleeps. Stop his pain._ The answer seemed to come from both at once. Or maybe neither had that thought on their own, and it was Mat’selesnya speaking through them. For the love of Oj...that was not Esther’s problem. Not while they were listening to her thoughts. She sent the healers the image of a determined nod and took her place at the head of the table, resting her hands on Gideon’s hair--not as soft as it used to be--as she eased her way into his mind.

Oju--Azor, he was a mess. Not just the scars on his face and the ash in his hair. His mental defenses had been stripped away, and his mind was in as much pain as his body. She saw his mind as a tangled mess of roots and traced the pain back through them to its source, a bright and noisy point deep in the tangle. Covering it with a projection of her hand, she dimmed the light and felt the rest of the tangle relax.

The pain was held tight by tendrils of memory. Esther considered taking hold of them, to find out what had caused all this damage.

_Movement for movement's sake was its own punishment._ Anything Esther learned now would be known to all of Selesnya before the surgery was done.

_Ready,_ she thought aloud.

The healers began again, burning out infection, growing flesh over bone and skin over flesh. With a projection of her other hand, Esther reached into the tangle and found the part of Gideon’s mind that kept him asleep.

She cast a spell she'd learned from a friend in the mountains of Tarkir, quieting dreams of fire and pain and replacing them with sunlight on a gently rippling lake.

Once upon a time in Valeron, she'd used it to calm his nightmares.

* * *

Finally, the surgery was done. Esther and the healers exchanged mental nods of satisfaction, the smallest possible congratulation for a difficult job well done. Esther slipped out of her connection with them, relief at being alone in her head mixing with the strange chill that always came with breaking contact with the Conclave, and headed for the ready room to wash her hands again.

A human nurse awaited instructions in the ready room. “Take the patient to recovery,” Esther told him, “and have someone let me know when he wakes.” The nurse headed into the operating room. Esther washed her hands, singing that awful Azorius nursery rhyme to herself again. Trying to recall the lyrics kept her eyes from crossing. 

In the dining hall, where she found a messenger boy of about twelve sitting at the table, staring at the remains of her egg bun.

Esther sighed. “Good morning, Mihail.” 

The boy jumped. “Doctor Esther! I was just--”

“Yes, you may finish that.” Esther raised an eyebrow. “Then go to Izzet and tell my wife I have a patient she should meet.”

He jumped to his feet and stuffed the remains of the egg bun into his mouth. “On it,” he said, a bit muffled, and darted out the door. Esther’s knees threatened to buckle. She leaned on the table for a moment, then reached for the coffeepot and refilled her mug.

The coffee was stale. Dear Ojutai, she’d been in there a long time.

She sat down. Maybe she should just rest her eyes until Zofia got here…


	2. Zofia, Cogwork Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my partner, who made sure I survived my master's thesis.

She awoke to the smell of fish. Puzzled, she opened her eyes slowly, and saw a plate piled with sandwiches settling onto the tabletop in front of her nose. Attached to it was a hand a few shades darker than her own, and to that an arm in an embroidered sleeve, and to that her wife’s gray eyes and concerned thoughts.

“Hey,” Esther croaked, then cleared her throat and began the process of sitting up straight. “Hey, Zofia.” Dear Dragonlord, was her neck stiff.

“I brought lunch.” Zofia set down the plate and sat on the bench next to Esther, draping one arm around her shoulders. “You really need more comfortable chairs in here.”

“Take it up with the Guildpact,” Esther grumbled, leaning into her wife's side. Mihail appeared from somewhere with two mugs of hot water, set them on the table, then grabbed the topmost sandwich and dashed off. “Bring back a newspaper,” Esther called after him.

“He’s not going to want to learn to read just because you want him to,” Zofia chided. She was smiling; this was an old argument. “Here, eat.” She picked up a sandwich and held it in front of Esther's nose.

All of a sudden Esther was hungry. “I read it too,” she said, then bit off the corner of the sandwich. With her mouth full of bread and fish and greens, she explained. “How do you think I know when to expect new patients?”

“They do love stories about people getting hurt,” Zofia agreed.

Esther took the sandwich and had another bite, looking over the plate of sandwiches while she chewed. “I don’t remember you making this much fish last night,” she said.

Zofia grinned. “Next time you make dinner, dear heart, I’ll show you how to make sure there’s leftovers. So who’s this patient you wanted me to see?”

Esther swallowed. “Let’s keep it quiet,” she said, and spoke directly into her wife’s mind. _Remember the Waste of Time?_

Zofia nodded. _The knight from wherever that you met in that other place?_ Esther had explained planeswalking a couple of times when she’d first come back to Ravnica, but the details were not Zofia's first priority.

 _Yeah. When he said he’d be back, I thought he was trying to make me not mad at him. And here he is with a hole in his shoulder--_ Esther tried not to pass the mental image of the wound along, but Zofia still felt some of her disgust-- _and now I’m taking care of him again._

 _I mean, it’s been years,_ Zofia pointed out. _Maybe he’s got his act together._

_That’s optimistic of you._

_Hey, one of us has to be._

The nurse was back. “Doctor, the patient's awake.”

Esther sat up straight and reordered her thoughts, nodding acknowledgement. “Thank you. I’ll see him now.” She stood up and carefully stepped over the bench. _Want you with me,_ she thought at Zofia. _I may need your strength._

 _Of course,_ Zofia replied.

They followed the nurse upstairs to recovery, a hallway lined with bedrooms that had once housed the boardinghouse's residents. The second door on the left was closed, with a sign pinned to the door that read “Unknown shoulder wound.” The nurse knocked, and Zofia took a moment to kiss Esther's cheek and whisper “You can do this.” Esther smiled back and marshaled her energy in the direction of professional.

The nurse opened the door. Esther squared her shoulders, nodded thanks, and stepped inside. “Good afternoon, Ser Gideon,” she began. “I’m pleased to find you in one piece.”

She watched him focus, looking up and down cautiously as he tried to figure out who she was and how she knew his name. Sitting up, the sheet reached partway up his chest. Part of Esther’s brain demanded time off to stare at his undamaged pectoral.

Finally his eyes settled on her nose, then widened. “Ser Esther?”

She nodded. Time to get back to the script. “Normally the nurse would come back to check on you, but I wanted to be fully informed since your circumstances are...unusual.” She punctuated this with a glance at the bandages on his arm and chest. Zofia, standing in the doorway, heard _literally falling back into my life_ and sent back encouraging thoughts.

He looked down at his shoulder and winced. “Yeah. Where are we?”

Esther planned her answer for the nurse she suspected was listening down the hall. “We’re in the Guildpact’s Clinic in the First District, not far from the Sanctum.”

His lips moved as he did the math. “Ravnica?”

“Yes.”

“How did I get here?”

Esther shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me that. Our bouncer picked you up a block from here with that wound.” She took another step into the room as she made her standard offer of treatment. “I am trained in mind magic, and can access your memory of the event if you give me permission.”

A pause. Despite Zofia’s optimism, Esther expected him to keep the secrets that had driven them apart, and whatever painful experiences he’d had in the meantime. But if he didn’t, if he trusted her...would she have to take on his burdens again?

“Can I think about it?” he finally asked.

“Of course.” Relieved, she approached the side of the bed and unwound the bellpull so that it hung within reach. “Yank on this if you need something. There’s always someone on duty. I’ll check on you again tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks,” he said, not quite making eye contact.

Esther longed to ask _did you figure it out?_ and was no longer certain whether she would ask it seriously or facetiously. Time to go.

“You’re safe here, Ser Gideon, and in good hands,” she said by way of goodbye, and left abruptly, Zofia closing the door half a step behind her.

She had just enough energy left to assure the nurse that everything was as usual. Halfway down the stairs, she started to feel her hands shaking, and by the time she got back to the dining room she was about ready to collapse. Zofia helped her sit down, and sat on the bench beside her, and hugged her as she began to cry into the embroidered jacket.

_It’s okay. You’re safe, I’m here, _Zofia thought at her. _You don’t have to be strong anymore. We can go home when you’re ready._ __

__Esther nodded and began collecting herself, smoothing out her breathing until she no longer felt like crying was necessary. “Yeah, let’s go home.”_ _

__“Doctor, are you okay?” Esther and Zofia looked up. Mihail was standing in the doorway with a couple of broadsheets under his arm._ _

__“I’ve had a rough day, Mihail,” Esther said slowly. “That healing this morning took more out of me than I thought. Tell the staff I’m going home early.”_ _

__Mihail thought about it, then nodded and held out the broadsheets. “Want the newspaper to read at home?”_ _

__“Thank you very much, Mihail,” Zofia said, taking one of the sheets. “Why don’t you go ask the healers if it’s okay to read the news to the patients?”_ _

__Mihail pouted. “Must I?”_ _

__Esther smiled. “You don’t have to, but it would be very helpful if you did. It can get boring having to stay in bed all day.”_ _

__“Okay,” Mihail said after some more thought. “I’ll be helpful.”_ _

__“Good work,” Esther said, and Mihail scurried off._ _

__Zofia took Esther’s hand as they walked out the door into the bustling Ravnican afternoon. “Remember,” she said, “whatever his story is, whatever he wants, I’m here for you.”_ _

__Esther’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but the thought she projected at Zofia was relieved. _Thanks. I know it, but sometimes I need to hear it.__ _


	3. Tangled Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zofia is full of good ideas, including Esther teaching Gideon to meditate.

“Why don’t I walk you to work?” Zofia suggested at breakfast the next morning.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Esther replied through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “And I’m glad you suggested it.”

“Why’s that?” Zofia asked playfully. Her elderly cat, Patches, padded up to the table and rested his front paws in her lap. The mechanical one she’d made him just after Esther came back glinted in the lamplight.

Esther’s answer was less lighthearted. “I would have felt bad asking you,” she said, staring at her food. “I should be able to deal with him on my own.”

Zofia frowned. “I’m certain you can.”

“But what if I don’t actually want to find out what happened to him?”

Patches yowled, and Zofia couldn’t help but chuckle. “He’s right, you know. You’re being absurd.” She began skritching Patches’ head, and he purred. “You want to know, and you will know, and you’re good enough at healing that you can help him without it taking all your energy.”

Esther sighed. “I hope you’re right. How do you know what Patches is saying, anyway?”

This was an old joke, and a signal that Esther was feeling a little better. “Remember, I’ve lived with him longer than I’ve lived with you.” Zofia shooed the cat off her lap and stood up; he immediately jumped onto her chair, then to the table, and began licking egg grease off Zofia’s plate. “I’m actually bringing a gift to the clinic.”

“What kind of gift?” Esther swallowed her last bite of breakfast and began collecting plates as Zofia headed for the workshop at the back of their apartment.

“Something that will make the head doctor’s life a lot easier,” Zofia called.

Esther stacked the dishes in the sink and began setting up the dish washing machine. It was an invention of Zofia’s, the first project she’d finished after completing her masterwork just over two years ago. Esther had coaxed her into building it, and out of a months-long creative doldrum. At first, comforting Zofia after repeated failures and helping her pick up debris and brainstorm solutions had felt as hopeless as making Gideon happy. Then, late one night, it had struck her that Zofia actually appreciated her help, and that things really were getting better.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Zofia asked behind her. Esther dropped the last brush into place and spun around. Zofia was holding a covered basket, which Patches, still sitting on the table, was eyeing suspiciously.

Esther sighed. “Just thinking about how you made this thing. And how different it was, helping you, from…” She trailed off, feeling anxious tears well up in her eyes, and began a breathing exercise to rein them in.

Zofia nodded. “Yeah. And I love you.”

“I love you too. And I think I can keep him at arm’s length if he’s like he was.” Esther made sure all the valves on the dish washer were set correctly, so that the water would stop running when everything was clean, then rested her head on Zofia’s bicep.

Zofia shifted the basket to her hip and patted Esther’s hair. “And if he’s not the absolute goblin he used to be, then you have my permission to keep him closer.”

Esther stood up straight and looked Zofia in the eye, searching her face and the outermost layer of her mind for any hint of teasing and finding none. “What? Really?”

Zofia winked, the serious mask vanishing, and offered Esther her free arm. “I saw where you were looking yesterday.” Esther took her arm, and they left the apartment together, shutting the front door in Patches’ inquisitive face. “Of course, I must insist that you share…”

***

The basket turned out to hold a cogwork dragon about the size of Patches. Zofia scooped it out and set it on the break room table, where it stood up slowly, stretched, and began exploring its new home.

“Wow,” Esther said. “How did I not notice you making that?”

“You do work all day,” Zofia pointed out. “And I wasn’t about to let a half-made fire-breathing kettle warmer loose outside the workshop.”

“Fire-breathing kettle warmer?” Esther repeated. “You’re right, this will make my job easier.”

“You made a tiny Niv-Mizzet!” Mihail exclaimed behind them.

Esther jumped, glancing over her shoulder at the boy. “Good morning, Mihail. Where did you spring from?”

“Nowhere.”

“You’re right, by the way,” said Zofia. “She is a tiny Niv-Mizzet. Her name is Mizlet, and she keeps the tea warm.” Mihail burst out laughing. Esther smiled wryly.

Mizlet crawled up to Esther and headbutted her hand. Esther absently started skritching the shiny brass and mizzium scales, then realized what she was doing. “Did you make a cat dragon?”

“Not on purpose.” Zofia smiled. “Funny how these things turn out.”

***

Esther knocked on Gideon’s door, carefully balancing a tea tray on her other forearm. Rosa, the head nurse of the night shift, had reported that Gideon had eaten breakfast, but Esther figured that a cup of her favorite relaxing tea would help their session go smoothly.

“Come in,” she heard faintly through the door, and she shouldered it open.

Gideon was sitting up in bed, fresh bandages on his shoulder, the sheets at about waist level. Esther measured her breathing and kept eye contact as she entered the room and set the tray down on the table, on top of yesterday's broadsheet, which was folded to show a large political cartoon suggesting that the Living Guildpact was in hiding from Orzhov debt collectors. She wondered why that had caught Gideon’s attention.

“Good morning, Gideon,” she said, closing the door and bowing to him in the style of the knights of Bant. “I hope you slept well.”

He shrugged, then winced. “Not really. Nightmares.”

“I can help with those, if you want,” Esther said. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She waited for him to choose a mug and drink, clutching the handle in his left hand like he was afraid to drop it, before she picked up the other mug in both hands and took a deep breath of the steam. The scent of chamomile blossoms and the leaves of Tarkir's Great Dragon tea bush helped her center herself.

He spoke so quietly that she almost missed it. “I'll tell you what happened,” he said, staring into his mug.

She blinked at him. “Say again?”

“I'll tell you what happened,” he repeated, hastily, like he'd made a decision and was afraid he's change his mind. “You deserve to know.”

Intrigued, she raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“As my doctor, I mean.” 

“Right.” Esther pulled a chair from its corner, set it facing the bed, and sat down. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The silence stretched. Gideon opened his mouth, but stopped himself, hiding his face in his mug. Esther found herself getting nervous again, and reached downstairs to find Zofia’s thoughts.

Faintly, through the chatter of the nurses on the morning shift, she heard, _You should meditate, if you’re nervous._

Halfway through the first breath, Esther realized her wife was a genius.

“Is everything all right, Gideon?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“Maybe it’ll be easier if I teach you to meditate.” It was an offer she’d made unsuccessfully before, but everything was upside-down these days.

“Yeah, I guess it’s time.”

Only Zofia could hear her shout of joy and relief. For Gideon, she smiled carefully and said, “All right. Set your tea down and get comfortable.”

She waited for him to lie back against the pillows before continuing much more quietly. “This is a technique I was taught by Master Narset of the attendants of Ojutai, before she left Tarkir to seek knowledge elsewhere. I want you to close your eyes and focus on your breathing. Think about the air…

“...moving through your nose…

“...down your throat…

“...into your lungs…

“...and back up again, and out.”

***  
 _  
“Why are you here?” The woman frowning at Esther over a pile of scrolls was younger than her, but something about her glare made Esther feel like a disobedient child._

_Esther cleared her throat. “Dragonspeaker Ishai sent me. He said...it was the Dragonlord’s wish that Master Narset teach me to meditate.”_

_“Well, I’m Narset,” the woman said, still frowning. “And I don’t know you.”_

_“My name is Esther. I just joined the Academy a month ago. And somebody decided I shouldn’t be learning to meditate with the children, so…”_

_“Esther’s not a name from here,” Narset pointed out._

_“No, it’s not. I’m not from here.”_

_“You must be from very far away.” She was broadcasting thoughts of a place Esther thought she knew, dark and cold but still somehow inviting, a relief to slip into out of shock and pain and…_

_A mental push from Narset sent Esther staggering back into her own thoughts, rubbing her eyes to try to clear her head._

_“So,” Narset said. “You’ve felt the pull. And you’re reading my mind. Well, I might as well train you, so you can stop doing that without permission, and in return you can tell me about the plane you’ve come from. Have a seat and get comfortable.”_

_Esther pulled out a chair and sat. Plane? Pull? It almost made sense. Had Narset been to Ravnica? Or was there somewhere else, or—_

_“Your mind is wandering,” Narset said sternly. “Bring it back.” Esther looked up and made eye contact for the first time. Narset nodded sharply, then looked back down at her pile of scrolls. “Close your eyes and focus on your breathing.”  
_  
***

“...and you may open your eyes.”

Gideon glanced around, blinking as he reoriented himself, and finally looked up at Esther. She smiled. “How do you feel?”

He thought about it. “I feel okay.”

“Good.” Esther remembered the feeling well, the profound _okayness_ of truly sitting still for the first time. “That’s all we need right now. More tea?” His mug would still be warm.

He nodded. “Good idea.”

Esther watched him drink, and watched herself watch him.The desire to reach out to him, physically and mentally, was still there, and she silently thanked herself for the patience with which she had done neither. Movement for movement’s sake…

He rested his mug in his lap, two fingers through the handle, and stared into whatever was left in it. “I think I can start now.”

Esther smiled. _Okay, time for more patience. I’ve got this._ “Whenever you’re ready. Where do we begin?”

“At the beginning, I guess. I grew up in the city of Akros, on the plane Theros. In my eighteenth summer, my friends and I were called on to defend the city from attacking monsters…”


	4. Interplanar Courier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend of Esther's from the old days arrives with a message from Narset.

“...and when I woke up, I was lying in the middle of the Pilgrim’s Road, with a company of Valeron knights staring down at me. You weren’t with them, I think.”

“No, I arrived a few months later. You were already working on your Sigils when I started trying to sell healing magic to the lords.” There was a good reason to reach out now. Esther held out a hand. “It’s...good to know all this. I can only imagine how hard it’s been carrying it with you.”

Gideon looked from her hand to her face, then back at her hand. “It’s weird, telling someone after all this time.” He reached toward her slowly with his uninjured hand. “But I’ve got a friend who’d say it’s a good weird.”

His fingers were warm. Esther thought hard about her next breath. Someone knocked on the door.

Esther pulled back and smiled apologetically at Gideon. “Come in.”

The door opened a little way, and an elvish nurse stuck their head through the gap. “Doctor, the courier’s here.”

Ravnica was full of couriers, but only one merited the interruption. Esther jumped to her feet. “I’ll come back and check on you after noon,” she said, scooping up her tea mug as she nodded to the nurse and strode down the hall. She resisted the urge to take the stairs two at a time, but her heart was still racing when she reached the break room.

Petrik was there, seated across from Zofia with both hands wrapped around a large mug of tea. His was the darkest skin in the room, as dark as some of the Selesnyans among the new staff, who clustered around the table marveling at his not-quite-Ravnican accent and the strange shiny metal that made up his left leg below the knee.

He looked up at her and grinned. “Esther! You’ve got mail.”

Esther grinned back. “It’s good to see you too.” Petrik was the first Ravnican she’d met off-plane. Like her, he’d become a planeswalker after a nasty encounter with Rakdos rioters; but his misadventure had broken his leg and taken him to a plane near Bant called Esper, whose inhabitants had found it easier to replace his injured limb than to set it properly. He’d taken to it well though, and turned his experience as a Ravnican courier into a wonderful interplanar delivery service.

Esther bent down to give Petrik a hug, then realized that most of the clinic’s staff were still watching. She let go of him, straightened up and cleared her throat. “Well? Don’t you all have patients to attend to?”

The healers and nurses began to shuffle out of the room. Some of them even had the decency to look embarrassed. Once they’d gone, Esther sat down next to Petrik and set her mug next to the teakettle, which Mizlet was curled around protectively. “Zofia, would you mind…?” Zofia nodded and refilled Esther’s mug.

“Thanks. So, Petrik, how goes it?”

“It goes.” Petrik shrugged. “Esper gets weirder every time I go back. Still picking up bits of Bant on one side and Grixis on the other.”

“I mean, Esper was weird to begin with, but...How’s the leg?” The question was a professional one, Esther told herself. It’s foreign medical technology and I’ve seen it before. I’m not gawking like the staff.

Petrik frowned at his flesh-and-blood leg. “Still a leg,” he said. “The shapers say they’ll replace it whenever I’m ready. A bit too eager, if you ask me.”

Esther chuckled. It wasn’t really a funny joke, but it made her feel better about asking.

“I’m not surprised,” Zofia cut in. “It’s sophisticated enough I kind of understand wanting to make whole people out of it.” Mizlet yawned, scales catching the lamplight.

“I can’t imagine what they’d want to do to my newest patient,” Esther said. She leaned in and spoke softly, in case any of the staff had come back to eavesdrop. “Remember Gideon Jura?”

Petrik’s jaw dropped. “No shit.”

“I mean, considerably less shit than the last time I saw him. He’s actually telling me things now.”

“He is?” Zofia asked.

“Yeah, I’ve learned all about his childhood on the mean streets of Theros. He makes so much more sense now.”

“Ser Gideon Jura, opening up about his past.” Petrik shook his head. “This I gotta see.”

“I dunno,” Esther said. “He might panic, seeing both of us at once. And I don’t wanna stress him out of telling me the whole story. But what I know, you’ll know.”

“Speaking of which,” said Zofia, “you said you had mail for Esther.”

“Sure thing.” Petrik dug around in the satchel on the bench next to him and pulled out a small stack of parchments and papyri. “These are for delivery to the guilds.” He set the letters on the table and pulled out a small leather pouch that smelled of tea. “Some Great Dragon tea from Tarkir.” And a slim scroll, which he handed to Esther. “And a letter.”

The scroll was made of the softest, thinnest paper she had ever seen and tied shut with a slightly squashed silk ribbon. Esther carefully untied the ribbon, set it aside, and slid her thumb under the edge of the scroll. It was two sheets rolled together, with a blank one wrapped around the letter to hide the writing.

Esther puzzled over the columns of writing on the inner sheet. It was in Ojutai script--who from Ojutai would want to write to her?--so the greeting would be this long block on the right--there. There was the chain of squiggles Narset had chosen to spell out Esther’s name. Esther closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the shape of the word and the steppes that spread out in all directions from the base of Ojutai’s aerie, and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, the writing began to make sense.

_To Esther, scholar of the healing arts, Great Teacher’s disciple, of the City of Guilds; from Narset, seeker of knowledge, once-favored child of the Great Teacher, of the Dragon’s Eye, greeting._

_A colleague of mine needs your particular healing skill. Come as soon as possible to the shrine to the elements on the plane of Kamigawa. She will pay in shelter and shared knowledge._

The rest of the page was written in a script Esther didn’t recognize, divided into horizontal sections of what looked like more columns. This was going to take more energy. She began to gather herself, to double down on Make Sense--

_What is it?_ Zofia’s voice cut into her thoughts and interrupted the spell.

Esther blinked, let the spell go, and turned the scroll around to show Zofia. “This part here is from Narset. She says she’s got a job for me, some friend of hers who needs healing on a plane I don’t know. She was...brusque about it.”

“It looks like they wrote the directions to Kamigawa in the local language,” Petrik said, running a finger down a column of text. “Don't hurt yourself figuring it out. I'll bring you.”

Esther thought about it. “Right, you can do that.” Petrik's sense of direction was unrivaled, even in the space between planes.

“And I was just there,” Petrik pointed out. “How soon can we leave? I got the sense it was urgent.”

“After lunch? What do I tell the staff?” Esther glanced at Zofia, who frowned thoughtfully.

“How about your sister? The one who keeps finding you work in the First District?”

Esther shrugged and started rolling up the letter. “Haven't heard from her in a while. Too busy lobbying the Senate, I guess…I can tell the staff I'm with her. Curing her children's nightmares or something. Don't know how long I'll be gone.”

Zofia nodded. “That works. And what do I tell Gideon?"

Petrik looked up from sorting his parcels. Esther did some more thinking.

"Tell him the truth. Tell him I've gone off-plane for a few days and he's to help you keep things running smoothly here."

"You trust him to do that?" Zofia was skeptical.

Esther glanced around to make sure none of the staff has come back to listen. "Not really, but I also don't trust myself right now. He's...trying to convince me that he's a better person than he was, and I need some time away from him to process that. And I trust you to test him for me. Don't worry, he's good at keeping order." Esther smiled wryly.

Petrik shook his head. “I still wanna know how he got that stick up his ass.”

“I don't know much,” Esther admitted. “But here's what he's told me. He...picked his battles wrong, sometime before you met him, and a bunch of his friends died. ...I really wish I'd known, when we were on Bant together.”

"Of course you wish you'd known,” Zofia said sympathetically. “And knowing now isn't the same as knowing then."

"It really isn't.”

"So how does putting him in charge here help?” Petrik asked.

"I think... I think this is a first step. To trust him, personally, I'm going to need him to do more work."

“All right.” Zofia smiled. “I can make him hold up his end. Now drink your tea before it gets cold.”

Mizlet snorted.


End file.
